


i've never been played in a good match

by wetoomustlove



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-04 10:43:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17303144
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetoomustlove/pseuds/wetoomustlove
Summary: Almost a year ago Andy came home from Paris to an almost bare apartment.  In that year she rebuilt her life and landed her dream job, and yet she still spends her mornings daydreaming in a cafe and wanting more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this story for quite a long time. 
> 
> This story is about how Miranda and Andy get together. Eventually, it will be about how the people in Miranda’s orbit find out and react. 
> 
> I’m not sure how many chapters this will be yet, but I do have some idea. I am taking this story to flesh out the things that fascinate me most about the movie (other than Miranda/Andy, of course). These things include: Emily’s competitive nature, her relationship with Andy, how precious she takes her job, how jealous she gets of Andy, how utterly enthralled she is with Miranda, Nigel’s relationship with Miranda: their relationship pre movie and post movie, the side of Miranda that Meryl Streep fought so hard to show us and what happens when the people around her realize that that side exists. I hope I did it justice!

**October 1 st 6:00am**

Almost a year ago Andy came home from Paris to an almost bare apartment.  Nate had taken everything that was technically his.  Andy supposed at the time that had been his right, but they had shared so much together, had melded their lives to such an extent, that Andy had hardly remembered what was hers and what was his.  Nate obviously remembered.

 

At least it made it easier when she had to move from their trendy apartment that they could only afford because each of them put over 40% of their monthly pay checks into the rent (a trendy apartment, mind you, they had only selected because of its close proximity to the Chelsea restaurant Nate would be working erratic hours in). 

 

Surprisingly, when researching for a new apartment, Andy had found multiple articles advising her to look in Yorkville.  Apparently, the Upper East Side was very affordable for renters.  Andy had grimaced and thought about the tree lined streets filled with opulent townhouses worth millions of dollars - that was the Upper East Side she was familiar with.  Affordable and Upper East side never really coexisted in her mind.  Plus, Andy had feared living close to Miranda’s townhouse.  Even if she knew she would never see her, she feared living in/near her neighborhood would trigger some form of PTSD.  So, she decided to look above 85th St.  Over ten blocks.  Plenty of space.  And it was plenty of space: Andy barely ventured below 80th street – the vibe on 90th between 2nd and 3rd where she ultimately ended up was completely different.

 

She had forgotten – or perhaps had blacked out – that the apartment she was coming up almost a year on, was only a few blocks from Dalton.  The school Miranda sent her children to.  And yet, since that fateful day in front of Elias Clark when they had both nodded at each other in a mutual…something…understanding?  Whatever it was, that was the last time Andy had seen Miranda (although not the last time she thought about her, of course).

 

Andy was an early riser – always had been.  Oftentimes, she finds herself awake and ready to go at 5am.  While the newsroom at The Daily Mirror had people bustling about at all hours of the day, she preferred her early hours to be away from the office.  Productive: yes.  Being at work for over 12 hours: no.  So, oftentimes, around 530 or 6 she takes her laptop and makes her way to the Starbucks she knows is practically 24 hours and sets up shop until around 8 when it is time for her to make her way to the office.

 

This morning the air was crisp and the leaves golden and crunchy beneath her feet. Sometimes in her early morning writing sessions she worked on, well, work, and other times she wrote for pleasure (not that she didn’t find pleasure in her work).  Short stories, poems, articles and editorials she dreamt of submitting to The Atlantic or The New Yorker.  Today – a short story about a crisp fall day.  The day had practically decided for her.

 

She got her regular drink, a breakfast sandwich warmed up, and a scone to leave in her bag for later.  The table by the window would work perfectly to feed her muse of the morning.  Two hours later, she had over 5,000 words on a girl named Kira and her changing family dynamics in the weeks between Halloween and Thanksgiving.  Hopefully the symbolism and the fall motifs would read just as poetic tomorrow morning when she would edit it as it did as she pressed save on the file.  She had gone through another coffee and a bottle of water and craned her neck to see if the restroom had a green vacancy sign.  Deciding to snag the bathroom before anyone had a chance to before her she left her stuff on the table and made a dash.  The barista tried to get her attention, but Andy didn’t realize.  Swinging the door open she came face to face with someone she thought she would only ever see in glossy magazines and the dull black and white of page six.  Maybe on TV if she was lucky.  Miranda Priestly.  Miranda’s eyes, rimmed red, went comically wide as she simultaneously realized she forgot to lock the door and who had just barged in.

 

“I…” Andy started at a loss for words.  It looked as if Miranda had been crying and if the make-up spread out was any indication, she was getting ready to get rid of the evidence.  The situation put a pit in Andy’s stomach.  One of the last times she had seen Miranda she had a near identical expression on her face.  That night in Paris - face bare, eyes red, skin pale - Andy remembered how Miranda reminded her of a painting: so pretty and so sad.  This time though, her eyes went hard and angry. 

 

“I…” Andy tried again.  Instead of apologizing, which Andy had intended to do, she said, “you didn’t lock the door.”

 

And if Andy thought Miranda had reached peak anger, nothing could’ve prepared her for the look leveled on her.

 

Andy took a huge step back and let the door shut. 

 

That was…did that just happen?  How the fuck had she missed her walking into the Starbucks.  Did she really just walk in on Miranda fucking Priestly crying in a Starbucks bathroom?  It felt surreal.  Completely.  As if on autopilot, Andy went to the counter and put the order that had been seared in her memory forever in with the barista.  Flashing a smile she added, “I’m really running late I got so wrapped up…I’m sorry…if you could…” indicating she needed the coffee as soon as possible.

 

“Of course,” the barista responded.  They all knew Andy there and they liked her.  She tipped well, made pleasant conversation without being the annoying customer who was always hanging out at the pick up bar, and always cleaned up after herself.  She rarely made requests to push her order before someone else’s, and when she did, they typically obliged.

 

Andy rushed to her table and packed everything up.  She grabbed the coffee from the counter and looked at the one thing she hadn’t packed up: a pen.  Why had she forgotten to pack the pen?  As if she were watching a pod-Andy from above, she saw herself pick up the pen and instead of putting it away in her bag, she mechanically wrote out her new number.  And if that wasn’t enough she added an: if you need to talk.

 

What the fuck was she thinking.  Pod-Andy had a death wish for sure, thought real Andy from above.

 

Soon the door to the bathroom slammed wide open and Miranda made her way through the tables and patrons with her nose high in the air - her gaze never leveling on anyone.  Andy rushed after her.  Once they made it outside Miranda finally paused as she tried to find Roy and her car.  Andy saw her opening: she gently wrapped her hand around Miranda’s arm above the crook of her elbow and faced her.

 

Pod-Andy is so dead.

 

Real Andy floated above watching the disaster unfold.

 

Making level eye contact Andy handed Miranda the cup of coffee, spun on her heels, and walked in the complete opposite direction of her subway stop.

 

**October 1 st 1:30am**

Being an early riser meant Andy was often in bed and asleep by 10.  Some nights, though, she lay awake and stared at her ceiling.  Especially on the days she had done something stupid.  Like barge into a bathroom where her ex employer was clearly having a moment and then give her a cup with her number on it.

 

Stupid stupid Andy.

 

Stupid Miranda.  Stupid Miranda with her pretty face and her sad eyes and her angry eyes and her…stupid Miranda.

 

Andy’s phone beeped and she groaned.  A text from a friend who knew she wouldn’t answer it till the morning because they knew she was asleep, or an email from a co worker who knew the same, or a news alert, or something equally as banal awaited her.  If it was important and it was past a certain time, everyone knew to call her.

 

When Andy couldn’t sleep, she had a rule to not look at her phone.  It only caused her insomnia to increase – a quick game turned into hours of Tetris or one article turns into reading all of the news she hadn’t gotten to for the day.  No.  No phone for Andy during her bouts of insomnia.

 

**October 2 nd 5:00am**

Like clockwork, Andy groaned and opened her eyes.  Why was she like this.  Less than three hours of sleep last night and she knew she wasn’t getting out of bed for a while.  She rolled over and flipped over her phone and let out a small gasp.

 

The beep she ignored last night?

 

A text.

 

**_I see you forgot what “hot as the center of the sun” means – m_ **

****

Holy. Shit.

 

A text.

 

From a number she could never ever forget.  Even if she had – it was clear who had sent it.

 

Andy flipped the phone over as if Miranda could see her freaking out through the screen.

 

Then she flipped it over again to look at the message.

 

**_I see you forgot what “hot as the center of the sun” means – m_ **

****

Hoooooly shit.

 

A punch drunk Andy – groggy from the lack of sleep with a shot of adrenaline from Miranda – responded:

 

**_You’re welcome for the coffee._ **

****

A few seconds later:

 

**_Sorry it wasn’t up to your standards.  Happy to rectify this morning._ **

****

The fuck was Andy doing?

 

She couldn’t even blame it on pod-Andy.

 

Another beep.  Andy looked down at her phone: **_How so?_**

****

Andy: **_What does your morning look like?_**

****

Although Miranda had responded within minutes, Andy was sure she was going to realize what she was doing, who she was texting, what she was implying by continuing the conversation, and delete Andy’s number from her phone.

 

Another beep cut off her thoughts: **_6am.  Same Starbucks.  I am assuming you are free based on your line of inquiry._**

****

So much for lazing about in bed, Andy thought.

 

She quickly responded **_yep_** knowing the lack of a proper yes would drive Miranda crazy – and for some reason, driving Miranda crazy made the base of her spine tingle in the most delicious of ways.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to get the pacing right for these two in this universe is hard!!!!!! Let me know what you think!

October 2nd 5:45am

Miranda sat with her back ramrod straight and her hands folded delicately in her lap. Her eyes hadn't strayed from the door in over ten minutes. Due to the early hour all of the other tables were empty and for that she was grateful.

How low and lonely does Miranda have to be to resort to an ex-assistant, her biggest disappointment in fact (and Miranda Priestly has had her share of disappointments), for…what? Companionship? A shoulder to cry on? Why did she text her? Why did she respond? Why is she here?

Suddenly, Miranda couldn’t be there anymore. She had to get out. Her skin felt itchy, her chest felt tight, was she having a heart attack? She had to go…had to go to work or the hospital or…something. As soon as those thoughts crystalized – the door opened and in walked Andrea Sachs. Her smile was as bright as ever. Miranda relaxed. Her chest loosened. Okay, so, not a heart attack. That was good at least.

“Miranda.” Andy said still smiling as Miranda sat, stoic as ever.

“Andrea.”

They stared at each other for a few moments until Miranda cleared her throat, “well I see you forgot the definition of expediency as well. My, Andrea, it hasn’t even been a year. How soon they forget.” 

Andy’s smile got improbably wider, “I could never forget anything you taught me Miranda.” Her tone was mostly cheek with a tinge of sincerity. Then, “center of the earth hot – comin’ right up.”

There were two commuters in front of Andy and Andy didn’t recognize the girl taking the orders, but she must’ve recognized Miranda because Andy’s drinks were out before the others.

Miranda took her drink from Andy, and after a small sip, curled her lips up slightly, “acceptable.”

“See, I could never forget.” Andy took a moment to study Miranda. Not much has changed: still as beautiful as ever, still as stoic as ever, as untouchable as ever, as beautiful as ever…oh wait…she already thought that.

In turn, Miranda took her time assessing Andrea: still as vibrant as ever, as naïve as ever (she supposed based on her broad smile), as pretty as ever.

“I know what I wrote on the cup,” what pod-Andy wrote on the cup she corrected internally, “but we don’t have to, like, talk about it if you don’t want. I’m happy to sit here. In silence. Or we can talk about the weather. Or yesterday. Or whatever.”

Miranda turned her head to the side and continued to study Andy – still as filter-less as ever, “what were you doing here yesterday? That is…I mean to say…what were you working on.” I saw you when I walked in hard at work clacking on your lap top with the concentration that not even I could break, was what Miranda wanted to add, but didn’t.

If Andy was surprised by Miranda’s line of questioning she didn’t show it. Instead she blushed lightly and looked down at her hands and then back up at Miranda. She wanted to lie and flippantly claim work - you know how it is – being a journalist on call at all times. The urge to lie was not one Andy normally had, but she wasn’t there to talk about herself. She was there for Miranda. Instead, knowing Miranda could suss out a lie like the best of them, she told an abridged version of the truth: “Sometimes I…well as you know. I don’t sleep a lot. Or well. Or often. When I wake up in the morning I like to use the time to myself to…work on some personal projects. Short stories, poems, sometimes I do work, investigative pieces that require peace and quiet, you know…stuff.”

“Stuff.” Miranda repeats with one raised eyebrow and a smirk. “And what…stuff…were you working on yesterday?”

“I was…it was a short story. I haven’t had a chance to re-read it yet, so I’m not even sure if it is what I think it is, but it was supposed to be about a girl. A woman. Her relationship with her family as told through the lens of time and…I was using the fall…the season to—”

Miranda cut her off “—may I read it?” Andy just stared at Miranda. “May I read it?” Miranda repeated. 

You know how I love to repeat myself, the Miranda in Andy’s head harped.

“You want to…you want to read my short story? I mean…I have…if you really want to read any of my writing I have plenty of things that I have edited…and better things…things you….I can…” Andy trailed off a desperate look on her face. 

“Well, Andrea,” Miranda drawled. “You left a job a million girls would kill for to pursue this…passion of yours. Writing. So, I would like to see if it was worth it. If leaving me and spending hours in a Starbucks writing drivel has been worth it.” Andy’s desperation turned into surprise. 

“Yes, Andrea. I do know you did not leave me because of Nigel.” Miranda paused to decide if she wanted to push it further. She decided, yes, she did. 

“Even you wouldn’t be so stupid. I know why you left. It took me a while to see it, but I figured it out. You really are a lot like me, you know. I do know you didn’t like it when I said that, but it’s true. You saw yourself sinking deeper and deeper into my world - and the deeper you went into my world the farther away you felt you were from the world you wanted – this world where you get paid to write. And in your free time you write some more. And your ambition and your desire to accomplish your goals led you to leaving me. I know because you are just. like. me.” Miranda punctuated her last three words with a smirk and enjoyed the look on Andy’s face. “So, Andrea, may I read the story you were writing yesterday with the leaves and the girl…” she finished her thought by lazily waving her hand in the air as if to say etc. etc. “Really, I’ve asked three times and you know that is past my limit.”

Wordlessly Andy grabbed her laptop from her bag and opened the file. She placed it in front of Miranda and sat stock still.

Andy could not believe Miranda was going to read a short story she had written just yesterday without any edits. She barely had a chance to read over it yesterday before the urge to use the restroom had overwhelmed her and then, well, everything else had happened. Miranda was going to think she was an idiot. She was going to laugh in her face and say “this is what you left for?” 

She was going to regret not blacklisting her and she was going to retroactively blacklist her She could see an updated reference: “Andrea is by far my biggest disappointment and if you hire her you’re an idiot because she can’t write.”

She was going to call up her editor in front of her and demand he fire her. This was it - this was going to be Miranda’s revenge. She was lying when she said she understood why Andy had left. Well, actually, Andy thought, she hadn’t even said that she understood. Oh god, Miranda was still pissed and she was going to hate her writing and she was going to –

Andy was brought out of her thoughts by Miranda. Miranda who was pursing her lips and blinking slowly to clear the glass and fog from her eyes.

“Miranda…” Andy nearly whispered as she fought the urge to reach across the table to lightly place her on Miranda’s forearm. 

“I…” Miranda seemed to realize what was happening – the beginnings of an unraveling - and looked shocked. “Oh my.” She whispered to herself matching Andy’s tone. “I am…” Miranda never apologizes, Andy thought, sensing the next words out of her mouth: “I am sorry. It seems your story has hit a chord.” Miranda said blowing out a breath to reorient herself. Miranda didn’t owe explanations to anyone. And yet, the story having loosened something in her, she continued, “yesterday I had a meeting at Dalton regarding Caroline and Cassidy. They…” another pause and deep breath “they seem to be…not adjusting well. Adjusting to what, I don’t know. The counselor at that school is an idiot. It has been almost a year since my divorce. I think…” I think I am a bad mother, Miranda finished silently in her head.

When Miranda found out she was pregnant she thought of her own childhood and told herself she was going to be the best mother she could be. It turns out that that wasn’t a very good one.

“Miranda, I can assure you no thirteen-year-old girl is adjusting well. To anything.” 

“Yes, well, I appreciate the sentiment.” Suddenly she shifted in her seat and changed her tone. It was warm like honey when she said, “your story was…is very good, Andrea.”

“What.” Andrea hadn’t meant to say that out loud – oops.

“I said--”

“I’m sorry. I know what you said. I didn’t mean to make you repeat yourself. Again.” Andrea rushed to say pulling her hand back. She began fidgeting, “that was not what I was expecting you to say.”

“What were you expecting?” Miranda responded with a quirk of an eyebrow. The melancholy now gone – or masked – she looked amused to Andy.

“Truthfully?”

“You know I expect nothing but the truth, Andrea.” Miranda said expectantly.

“I was worried you were going to hate it and you were going to blacklist me from…I don’t know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to think the worst, truly, but I…” Andy trailed off and bit her lip.

“I know what they say about me: I am a monster. An ice queen. It’s okay to say it, Andrea. You of all people know that I expect a lot from those who work for me and I let them know when they fall short.” Miranda didn’t sound sad or resigned. She sounded confident and certain of her place in the world. “So you should know that I would have no problem telling you if your story was…” she paused trying to think of the right word.

“Shit?” Andy responded cheekily knowing that Miranda wasn’t fond of curse words. At least she hadn’t been. Who knows what not Runway-Miranda was fond of.

“Shit.” Miranda agreed with a soft smile. “Yes. Which it was not.”

Looking at her wrist, Miranda sighed. “I have to go. Can you email this story to me? And email me three of what you feel is representative of your best work over the last year. Are you free at 6am next Thursday?”

Andy sat there stunned. Truthfully, this whole morning felt like the twilight zone. What did Miranda want from her? “Sure..yes…sure..I can…I will do that.” Andy said with what she hoped was her most innocent and vacant smile.

“Good. That is all. Thank you for sharing this with me Andrea. I will see you next week.”

And that was how it began.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!!! Please do comment to let me know what you think so far - I have not written any fic in almost a decade, so I do welcome all feedback including constructive criticism.


End file.
